


The Course of Justice

by Magnetism_bind



Category: Les Misérables (2012)
Genre: Justice, M/M, Rape, Revenge, slight AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-28
Updated: 2013-06-01
Packaged: 2017-12-06 18:02:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/738542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magnetism_bind/pseuds/Magnetism_bind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Slightly AU. Champmathieu is sentenced and imprisoned before Valjean can come forward. Javert decides to remind Valjean that he knows who he really is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a Les Mis kink meme prompt. Prompt was for a Javert/Valjean version of "Payback" by astolat (An utterly fantastic L.A. Confidential fic. Go and read it: http://archiveofourown.org/works/638743).

Javert lurks in the shadows outside the factory. His palms are sweating as he watches the light in the factory window.  This hasn’t been an easy decision to come to, and yet, what else can he do? Valjean walks freely through the streets of Montreuil-sur-Mer. The townspeople bow to him courteously. They wish him good day, and seek out his opinions on matters ranging from trivial and personal to those important to the general public. Wherever he goes Valjean is treated with the utmost respect.

A few weeks ago Javert had been one of them, bowing his head in the company of the mayor, pleased to merely be in his presence.

Now he waits in the dark, his stomach tensed with the anticipation of what is to come.

His memories run together in the dark like a winding river. He has many of them concerning Valjean due to their years spent at Toulon, but the more recent ones involving the convict’s time as Madeleine overlap, blending curiously together until Javert’s no longer certain who he’s waiting for.

When he had first gone to the man, confessing what he'd done, ready to be turned out of office because he could no longer bear to serve a convict, Valjean had had the gall to refuse to his request to be dismissed. As though he had the right to such a decision concerning Javert _. Valjean_ , still playing at being mayor, even now that they both knew the truth. The mayor was allowed the right to be gracious and lenient; from Valjean it’s nothing but an indignity.

So now Javert stands outside the factory, waiting to remind Valjean that he may have tricked the law, but he has not fooled Javert.

The mayor often works late into the night, long after the workers have gladly departed from their labor. Tonight appears to be one of those nights. The lamp still burns high in his office. Javert watches until he knows for certain that the rest of the factory is dark, and all of the workers gone their various ways before he ventures forth.

The factory is silent as he walks down the dark row of tables. He stands there at the bottom of the stairs, face turned towards to the light. From there he can see Valjean at his desk. No, not _his_ desk, the mayor’s. Valjean has no right to sit there.

Javert stalks up the stairs and pushes the door open.

*  *  *

Valjean glances up at him and frowns. “Javert, what brings you here at this late hour?” He doesn’t rise, as though Javert’s presence isn’t important enough for the courtesy. Were that the mayor’s action, Javert would accept it as his due. From Valjean, the insult is unacceptable.  
  
“An act of duty.” Javert sets his hat aside. “I could delay it no longer.”  
  
The mayor, ( _Valjean_ , Javert curses himself for falling into such ways again) raises an eyebrow. “Might I remind you that your last act of duty brought you a stern reprimand from the police officials in Paris?”  
  
Javert bites the inside of his cheek against the fury surging within him. “How good of you to remind me.” He steps forward, placing his palms upon the desk. “But you see, I don’t agree with the officials on this, and I don’t believe in their ruling,” he pauses, and then adds almost gently, the number soft upon his tongue, “24601.”

The response is electric. The mayor’s mouth tightens, his face pales slightly. His eyes slide to the door; as always, he’s the convict, seeking the ways of escape.

“You are weary, inspector.” Valjean tells him. “Go home.”

“Not until I have fulfilled my duty.” Javert means the words to sound as crudely as they do.

“What precisely do you intend?” Valjean inquires, standing at last.

Javert shrugs. “Why don’t you resist and see?” He has waited a long time to face Valjean in this manner again.  
  
“Enough of this,” Valjean strides around the desk impatiently. “You may go, inspector. Leave now and we won’t speak of this again.”

Javert catches his arm. “Not yet.” To make the man see reason, he will have to treat him once again like a beast of Toulon.

Valjean pulls his arm free and Javert punches him swiftly in the gut.

Valjean stumbles backward in surprise. “Javert.”

Javert grabs his arms, shoving him up against the wall, while Valjean’s still stunned. He has to work quickly before Valjean rallies himself and fights back. Javert strikes him and then again harder, letting the breath seep out of Valjean's body.

Valjean sags against the wall for a moment. Javert hauls him over to the desk, shoving him down face first. Pulling his handcuffs out of his coat, Javert cuffs Valjean to the desk, arms widespread over the polished wood. He steps back to survey the man stretched out before him. Javert wants him to remember this every time Valjean dares to sit at the mayor's desk.

"Javert, stop this insanity!"

"You dare give orders to me?" Javert grabs his hair, slamming Valjean’s head down against the desk. "I think not, 24601."

It gives him a curious thrill to say the number again, to feel Valjean twist helplessly underneath him at being called that.

“Javert, I’m warning you,” Valjean pulls at his restraints. “Release me at once.”

Instead Javert tugs one of his gloves off, stuffing it inside the Valjean’s mouth as a gag.

Valjean’s still struggling and Javert smashes his fist into his torso until Valjean goes limp against the desk.

Now that he has Valjean at his mercy, Javert takes his time with the next step. He removes his coat, hanging it up over the mayor’s. Seeing the garment hanging there, as though it belongs upon that hook, only sends his temper raging higher. Valjean will continue to wear that coat when he has no right to it upon his back. 

It only serves to strengthen Javert’s resolve.

He turns back to Valjean, still straining at the restraints.

His first intention had been merely than to bloody the man, bruise him a little. Let Valjean explain that to the good people of the town. But now, seeing Valjean, helpless before him, a memory stirs.

There was rape in Toulon of course. Not all prisoners fell prey to it, but more than the law cared to acknowledge. As far Javert can remember Valjean wasn’t threatened with that. None of the other prisoners would dare attempt such a thing upon the imposing figure.

But here he is now, 24601, unable to fight back, and Javert thinks, if Valjean has to explain a few bruises, well, he might as well give him something to truly explain.

He circles the desk, pulling drawers open in search of what he’s after. “Surely you have a knife here somewhere , ah,” Javert holds it up. It’s half blunt, but it will serve.

He sees the question in Valjean’s widening eyes, and pulls the glove free for a moment. “You look curious, 24601.”

There’s a strand of spittle trailing from Valjean’s lips to his glove. It hangs there, glistening in the air for a second before snapping as Valjean licks his lips. “Javert, I swear to you, let me go,”

Javert leans down, pressing the butt of the knife up under his chin, forcing Valjean’s head up.

“Do you wish you had dismissed me now?” Javert whispers.

“I wish you would regain your senses.” Valjean responds.

His answer mocks Javert. “I am perfectly calm.” He shoves the glove back inside Valjean’s mouth, cramming it all the way in till Valjean’s cheeks bulge obscenely.

It’s a lie, naturally. He’s enraged, but now his rage is turning to the cool steel of the knife. It makes quick work of Valjean’s belt and trousers. Javert slits his underclothes up the back and lets the shreds fall to the floor.

Valjean shivers as Javert stands there, surveying him now.

It’s almost ridiculous, this tableaux he’s created. Valjean is a monster of a man, yet trapped and caught and held, now like this, he’s merely a man half-naked and absurd. Javert would feel ashamed of his actions here if this were the mayor.

Instead he moves forward until the front of his trousers presses against Valjean’s bare backside.

He’s not hard, but he can take care of that. Javert unbuttons his trousers, letting the cloth rasp against Valjean’s skin. Javert takes himself in hand, stroking his cock steadily.

At last he’s hard enough, and it takes surprisingly less than he thought to enter Valjean, who grunts at the intrusion.

“Never forget that I _know_ you,” Javert punctuates the words with a savage thrust. “I know the man you are, and I will never forget, Valjean, that it is you who wear the mayor’s chain even if I can’t prove it.”

Javert drags his hips along Valjean's, bruising and quick. There's no sound in the room save Valjean's labored breathing. No, none of this takes long at all.

There's no sense of vindication when he withdraws, only a slightly sense of something as he sees the marks of his nails in Valjean’s skin.

Javert thinks about leaving him there on the desk, but no, that would defeat the purpose. He unlocks the cuffs. Valjean doesn’t move.

When he retrieves his glove from Valjean’s mouth, it’s sodden with spit, and there are bite marks across the leather.

Javert pulls his coat on, dropping the cuffs into his pocket. He leaves Valjean there, slumped across the desk and walks out, not bothering to close the door behind him.  
  
The night is colder than he remembers it. Javert draws his coat close to him as he makes his way home in the darkness.

 *  *  * 

When they meet in the street after that, there is no mention of what passed between them that night. The mayor’s gaze is cool and impersonal, and if he’s a little more demanding with his reports, Javert makes no complaint. He knows the truth, felt the heat of it on his skin, and the reluctant press of it around his cock.

If the mayor walks rather stiffly for the next few days, Javert tells himself he’s not proud of it. It was only justice after all.

If he were ever tempted to forget what he had done, to pretend Valjean is still Madeleine, Javert has only to glance at his glove to see the marks Valjean has left there upon the leather.


	2. Chapter 2

“You wished to see me, monsieur le maire?” Javert stands there, perfectly respectful. They both know the sneer is implied. There is no respect between them now. At least Javert tries to tell himself that. It’s surprisingly hard to hold himself to it. Valjean remains very much the mayor, even now.

“Yes, thank you, Javert,” Valjean sets a folder aside, not quite meeting his eyes.  “I was reviewing your report on the mill robbery. You didn’t arrest the two men.”

“I did not.”

“Why not?”

Javert makes an impatient gesture. It’s all there in the report. “There was insufficient evidence.”

“Indeed. And yet you had an eyewitness account.” Valjean taps the folder thoughtfully.

“The eyewitness,” Javert says, “was drunk. One couldn’t rely on him for anything.”

“You have neglected your duty by not even making an attempt to give any weight to his testimony.”

“I regret that you feel that way, monsieur le maire.” Javert says stiffly.

Valjean sighs. “I’m afraid I’ll have to report your failure to the prefect of police.”

Javert grits his teeth. “As you must, monsieur le maire.” He’ll be damned if he’s brought before the prefect upon such a trumped up charge.

*  *  *

The interview with the prefect is not pleasant. Javert is thoroughly raked over the coals for his so-called neglectful conduct. He bears the disgrace and tries to carry on as before, clinging to the memory of Valjean pressed against the desk.

*  *  *  
  
The second time is worse though. A drunk gentleman struggles with Javert as he arrested him. Of course, the gentleman is pardoned, but not before he complains to the mayor about the way he was treated by 'that brute of a police inspector.'

The report is on the mayor’s desk before Javert has a chance to speak privately to him about the matter.

There’s a queasy feeling in the pit of Javert’s stomach when he’s summoned to the mayor’s office this time.

The mayor, for he is still the mayor in the eyes of the law, glances at it, then him, waiting for an explanation.

Javert licks his lips, starts, then falters. This is far worse than the previous charge. Were Valjean given enough pressure from some gentleman who thinks he’s above the law, he could easily dismiss Javert. This could ruin him if his word isn't believed, and Valjean could ensure that it isn't.

"Be at my home seven o'clock tomorrow night," The mayor says dismissively, and Javert bows, angry at the relief he feels.

It only took a month for Valjean to get him where he wants.

*  *  *  
Valjean's housekeeper lets him in and instructs him to wait in the sitting room. Javert paces in front of the fire. At least it's warmer than his own room he thinks absently. The fire does nothing to curb the heady apprehension spreading through him. How will Valjean take his revenge?

*  *  *

It's half-past seven by the time Valjean enters the room at last.

"I must apologize. There was a disturbance at the factory."

"Should I go?" Javert half reaches for his hat, but Valjean shakes his head.

"No. Stay." He looks Javert over with the cool calm gaze Javert has grown to hate over the last year. “Take your clothes off.”

Javert obeys silently. He hadn’t expected…but perhaps he should have. Valjean merely stands there, watching him as he discards his clothing piece by piece. Coat and boots first, then trousers and shirt. His hands tremble slightly when he removes his stockings and then his underclothes.

Valjean makes no comment as Javert stands naked before him. The heat from the fire is enough that he’s not chilled, but still his skin prickles slightly under Valjean’s gaze.

Valjean nods to himself. “Your handcuffs?”

Javert retrieves them from his coat pocket and holds them out to him.

Valjean shakes his head. “Go into my bedroom.”

“You,”

A look from Valjean cuts him off.

“Fasten them to the bed, restrain yourself there, Javert, and wait.” Valjean turns to gaze at the fire. He pays no attention to Javert as he goes into the other room.

*  *  *

There is a fire lit there too, burningly merrily. Javert wages that this is the first time there’s been a fire lit in this bedroom. Valjean wouldn’t bother with such luxuries usually. This is a special occasion.

Javert stretches out stiffly upon the bed, fastening the handcuffs around the headboard before his resolve fails him.

Then he is forced to wait, sweating in anticipation of what is to come.

At last Valjean enters the bedroom and surveys the picture waiting for him. Javert squirms under his gaze. What must he look like to Valjean, naked and restrained, waiting for whatever Valjean chooses to do to him. His cock twitches in spite of his fear.

Valjean glances at it, and then at Javert’s face, but says nothing. Instead he opens the door to his bureau and takes out a bottle of oil.

He pours it over his hands, and then casually, over Javert’s cock as well. Javert twists harder, but now Valjean’s settling on the bed beside him, stroking him, his fingers moving over Javert’s flesh like this is a perfectly natural thing for him to do.

Javert opens his mouth to sneer at him, and Valjean merely reaches up to tug at a nipple, effectively shutting Javert up. His nipple throbs painfully as Valjean continues working his cock methodically. His other hand moves lower between Javert’s spread buttocks, circling around his hole. The feel of Valjean’s oil-slicked fingers against him makes Javert suck in a breath, and then Valjean’s fingers sink into him with appalling ease.

It shouldn’t feel this good. It shouldn’t feel good at all, and yet it does.

Javert grunts low in his throat as Valjean’s slick fingers push further inside him. He struggles, trying to pull away from him, from that fucking hand, anything that will free him from this devil’s bargain.

Valjean tugs on his cock harder and Javert stills with a whimper. Valjean makes a soft pleased noise and goes back to fisting Javert’s cock, dragging the pleasure from him as he moves his fingers steadily between Javert’s legs. When Valjean finally stops, Javert can’t help the hiss of disappointment that escapes his lips, his cock still straining towards that hand. Shame follows instantly and he closes his eyes for a moment.

There’s a sharp jerk on his cock and he opens his eyes with a cry. Valjean doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t have to. The warning is clear. Javert must watch this.

He does, seething silently as Valjean undresses quickly. All too soon he’s positioning himself between Javert’s thighs. Valjean's cock enters him so easily, it's disgusting how readily his body accepts him, how much his body _wants_ this. Javert loathes it in that instant.

Valjean thrusts slowly, evenly, bracing himself against the headboard as he moves steadily in Javert.

It should be painful. He should not hunger for this, but wretchedly his body continues to do so. His cock curving upward, slick and hard against his belly.

Valjean wraps his hand around him, stroking Javert in time with his strokes, urging him onwards.

A broken cry stutters across Javert's lips as his cock jerks in Valjean's hand, another stroke and he’s gasping, spilling across Valjean’s hand and his own stomach. Valjean keeps stroking him, each movement sending harsh, pleasurable spasms throughout his body. Javert arches his back, biting down on the hoarse cry welling up inside him. He tastes blood on his lips, clenching tightly around Valjean’s cock.

Valjean comes inside him with a low sigh, as though finally releasing something that’s been pent-up within him for years. He rolls off Javert and lies there a moment.

Then he stands without looking at Javert, collects his clothes and leaves.

Javert draws in a long, stuttering breath. His chest rises and falls painfully. He lies there panting on the bed, sweat drying upon his bare skin.

It occurs to him then that Valjean could leave him here, bound to his bed, for as long as he desired. Eventually, yes, they would miss him at the police station, but not for some time. Valjean could always make some excuse to explain his absence. His spent cock twitches again at the thought, and Javert’s mind wanders further. Valjean could demand his repeated presence here in this bedroom and Javert would have to obey. What if that is his plan?

He pulls at the cuffs anxiously, but there’s no way he can break free and he falls back against the bed with a curse.

Eventually Valjean returns, once more fully dressed. He’s already cleaned himself off and tucked himself away, no evidence of what happened. Javert licks his tender lip and waits.

Valjean unfastens the cuffs, releasing Javert. “You may go now.” He holds out the handcuffs. 

Javert scowls at him, but he takes the cuffs, brushing past Valjean’s shoulder in his haste to leave. Valjean catches him by the arm and he freezes.

“I trust in the future you will be more attentive to your duty, Javert.”

 _How dare he,_ Javert swallows down his rage and manages to nod. “Of course, “ he hesitates, and still Valjean’s hand is upon his arm. “Monsieur le maire.”

Valjean smiles and lets him go.

Javert dresses quickly in the front room. He aches to clean the feel of Valjean from his skin, but that will have to wait.

He hesitates a moment when he’s done dressing, but Valjean doesn’t reappear. He must truly mean Javert is allowed to leave, and so Javert does.

Once outside, he stands in the darkness, breathing in the night air. The lamp is still lit in Valjean’s front room. Javert draws closer to the window, watching incredulously as Valjean takes a seat beside the fire. He reaches for a book, but instead of opening it, he merely sits there, gazing vacantly in the flames.

Javert goes home to his darkened room. He lights a candle and washes himself slowly from head to toe, starting with his face, letting the water drip down his neck. But no matter how hard he scrubs, he can’t rid himself of the bright coppery taste after he bit his lip as Valjean made him come.

*  *  *

Javert remembers that night often through the following days, the memory creeping up on him at odd times. The way Valjean’s hand held his cock, how he himself had fucked Javert. Javert's body aches, remembering all too well how Valjean had felt against him. Javert trembles at the recollection. He tells himself he doesn't desire to feel it again, not to have Valjean press him back down upon that bed until he begs.

There is no turning back now. It is done.


End file.
